by Eric Ugland
I found myself overextended once, throwing a spear without being in range of getting another weapon. But then I just picked up the nearest tungebur and used the poor creature’s body to clear a path through its brethren. I beat tungeburs with a tungebur, and did a surprising amount of damage with him. The first time I ripped the arm off a tungebur, I stopped and had a weird little moment before proceeding to beat the creature to death while he bit at my stomach.
Battle caused time to flow at different rates, so it was really difficult for me to get a good grasp of how long the fighting had been going on. But one thing was clear: the tungebur’s desire to throw themselves into the meat grinder wasn’t fading. At all. They swarmed up the sides of the ziggurat with ceaseless vigor. And despite it being an obvious endless slaughter, they didn’t seem to care.
I started to feel this thudding in my chest. Not necessarily my heart; it seemed more central than that, and had zero bearing on my exertion. It felt like something wanted to get out, like something was knocking. And after every kill, every explosion of blood, every challenge to me and my life, it was another invitation. And with it, this heat washed over me, this primal desire for violence, for vengeance.Welling up from that central spot I tried to keep it down, but without warning, it seemed like everything slowed down just a little bit more. I could see everything in perfect clarity, despite the edges of my vision being tinged in a strange red. I could see how to move to exact greater damage, as if something was guiding my hand, something was telling me how to kill. Well, not how to kill, but how to kill better. With more gore. More pain. I felt like I was seeing slight highlights on small points of the tungeburs, chinks in armor, spots of weakness. And it was easier and easier to guide my strikes exactly where it would do the most damage.
I sliced through a throat on an upswing, then through tendons on the downswing, death on my right and grievous injury on my left. I moved from the staircase, straight-up carving a path through the beasts every which way, trading weapons as if this was the most macabre gift exchange party ever, taking each creature’s as I killed it. I barely held the weapons for more than a second at a time, and each hit I exacted seemed to do massive, disproportionate amounts of damage. At one point, I hit a tungebur’s head with the flat of an axe, and the head fucking exploded, fountains of blood shot up before raining down on me. It was the most disgusting sprinkler system ever invented.
And somehow, somewhere along the way, I ceased feeling like myself, instead, I was death. Spinning death, whirling death, crushing death. I killed multiple tungeburs with every touch. They couldn’t even come up the ziggurat fast enough for me, so I went after them, somehow pushing the horde back down the ziggurat. Deep in the back of my head, I heard a voice telling me I should not leave my party. I had to maintain the stairs, to guard those friends while they figured out the puzzle.
But at that point, I could care less about the puzzle. I was caught deep in the grips of a blood fever, and I just wanted to kill, to spill the blood of my enemies. Fuck the lamentations of their women — I wanted to kill their women, their gods, their world. I would have slaughtered every last one of them if I could reach them from the stairs. But I never left the stairs, not for long at least.
On and on it went. In my frenzy, I’d managed to kill enough of them that Ragnar and Skeld would come out and push bodies off the fighting level of the ziggurat. I slid on the blood, tripped on the tripe, occasionally fell to a knee on a knee. But somehow, no matter what I did, how I moved, I was always where I needed to be for another killing blow. Even the throwaway jabs with chipped blades seemed to find arteries to rupture. I felt like I could just do this forever. But another part of my brain snapped into gear, telling me that this might be the perfect farming opportunity to get Nikolai levels.
I smiled, and it must have been a terrifying thing. Because that moment, my smile, was the only time a tungebur turned and ran. It was, however, promptly deceased from a spear to the back of the head. It revolted a part of me, how much I was enjoying the wholesale slaughter of these creatures. And, in my lame defense, they did attack me first. And weren’t willing to stop.
But, as if someone hit a switch, the tungeburs just stopped.
Everything stopped.
Chapter 146
Everything.
The world stopped completely.
Well, everything outside of me, I suppose.
I was in the middle of a kneeling slice, knee-capping two tungeburs, and then the sword I was using wouldn’t move.
The spurt of blood from my just-decapitated foe froze in the air. I could see each and every droplet.
I stood up, chest heaving, my sweat and their blood mingled in a foul body paint. I had no idea what was going on, but I appreciated the break in the action so I could get a better tactical view of the landscape. But it was pointless. There were no tactics possible in this — it was just death. All I needed was kill.
A shadow fell over me.
I looked up to see a nightmare with wings descending towards me. It settled on the stone bricks next to me.
The thudding in my chest was still going, but dissipated as the figure and I made eye contact. It was monstrous. Massive. Gross. Basically reaching the fucking sky. It had super thick skin, and horns seemed to sprout out across its entire back. The ones that came out near its skull were aimed forward, and had points all over them. Almost as if his horns had thorns on them. It had a red overtone to his skin, transitioning to a grey or silver toward the bottom of its form. All its protrusions were a matte black, except for its teeth. Did I mention its teeth? It had a ton of them. Teeth inside its mouth, teeth on the end of its tongue, teeth on the outside of its jaw, top and bottom, and a bonus set of mandibles with teeth on them. And of course none of these teeth were molars. They were all sharp and pointy and looked like they were ready to puncture or tear any flesh that got a little too close. It had beady little black eyes that shone in its giant head. I mean, the eyes weren’t that small unless you compare them to its great head. Its massive wings unfurled up into the sky blotting out the sun above me, dark leathery bat wings with spikes on them. It had two massive legs, and huge feet with massive fuck-off claws while its arms were giant bulges of muscle under thick leather, ending in claws that were bigger than me.
Trying to bring up a weapon, I realized I had nothing but my hands. So I settled into a horse stance, figuring it was as good a defensive posture as I could muster. I was going to go out swinging.
The figure seemed to size me up, then looked out at the destruction I’d caused. It swiped its massive hand across the ziggurat, and bodies dumped down the ziggurat like an overzealous toddler putting sprinkles on ice cream.
The big creature harrumphed, and shook, almost like a dog. A really big scary dog with wings and lots of teeth and all sorts of nightmarish accessories. But as it shook, it shrank down some, until it was only slightly larger than me.
Then it took a breath, and let it out in a long sigh.
“You have broke the dungeon,” it finally said, its voice very low and very rough. Almost as if it was a mix between thunder and rocks falling.
“I’m sorry?” I asked, thoroughly confused and weirded out by this experience.
A claw reached out and touched my chest, gently. The monster left the claw there for a moment, and I felt a pulse over me. Then it pulled its claw back, looked at it, and wiped it on the wall of the ziggurat.
“Your skills are,” it paused, thinking of the word it wanted, “unique. I might almost accuse you of cheating.”
“Cheating?” I asked, standing up straight and looking at the monster in his still very large eyes.
“You are significantly more powerful than you should be, at your level, at your race, in this world.”
“Okay, well, I’ve only played by the rules as I’ve seen them.”
“Yes, I assumed as much, and that is why you are standing here, talking to me, and not banished.”
“If I may, where might I be banishe
d to?”
“There are countless worlds less pleasant than Vuldranni. In varying degrees. I believe the surface of Meketrex is currently being scoured by a remarkably unpleasant beast. Perhaps you would like to go roast in its gullet for an eternity? Respawn only to be eaten again? Does that interest you?”
“Tempting, but no.”
“I thought not.”
It paced along the edge of the ziggurat, crushing the remaining bodies of the tungebur that hadn’t yet been pushed off, forming a most repellent jelly.
“Could I have your name, possibly?” I asked. “I have a feeling you know, but I’m Montana Coggeshall.”
“I know your name. I am not quite so familiar with your benefactor, this Mister Paul. It is likely him I should be speaking to about your,” it paused again, “perks. They are most unusual.”
“Yeah, you’d definitely have to talk to him about them. You know, if you wanted to know more about them.”
The creature frowned at me, and I realized how stupid what I had just said sounded. I just looked down at my feet.
“I might. But that does little to solve our dilemma, Montana.”
“Which is?”
“You are in a Dungeon, and—”
“The Dungeon of the Ancients.”
“That is correct. It is one of the few left of Vuldranni, and it is mine. One of my children. And you are doing your best to break it.”
“You mentioned that. What exactly do you mean by breaking it?”
“This level is about solving the problem before the swarm overtakes you. However, you seem able to fight forever. The swarm is unable to overtake you; you just stand here and slaughter everything the dungeon sends at you. The dungeon has populated this level with a certain amount of life, and that has kept constant in the millennia the dungeon has been here. But you destroyed that. You continued to kill, even as my dungeon repopulated this level. Thrice. And now, it runs out of energy. If it is completely drained, it will die.”
“I mean, that just seems like a flaw in design there,” I said. “Why not stop making these tungeburs and just let me go to the next level?”
“Because the dungeon is not as smart in that way as we are. The dungeon has little room for creative thought, largely because it has been on its own for so many years. It has been hidden in forced isolation for longer than it knows how to express to me. It was very excited when you entered, for it hungers for new blood. And yet, at every turn, you seem to know how to thwart it. And now, despite what other challenges it might have had for you, it has reached out to me in terror because it is about to die. And I cannot allow that.”
“You’re the god of dungeons.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know Eona?”
“The goddess who has blessed you? I know of her. I do not know her. She is rather beneath me, you understand.”
“Can I get your name?”
“I apologize, it has been long since I have trafficked with a mortal, and my manners are not quite as they should be. I am Typhon.”
“Typhon, God of Monsters and Dungeons, I am honored to meet you,” I said with a slight bow.
The god’s terrible eyebrow, covered in protruding spikes, raised a little.
“Yes, it is an honor for you.”
“Always love meeting you guys.”
“Us guys?”
“The, well, gods. You’re the third one I’ve met. I mean, provided Mister Paul is a god.”
“He must be to have done what he has done.” Typhon stretched its wings out, almost like it was involuntary, then settled them back against its back one more time. “We still sit at a bit of a problem.”
“Right. I’m breaking the dungeon.”
“So how do you propose we deal with this issue?”
“Are we negotiating?”
“Though I am loathe to do so, I fear it is the only way. Because you have the marks of others upon you, I cannot just toss you to the void.”
“So you are powerless against me?”
“Hardly, mortal. It is challenging only because I would face certain repercussions. Others may portray me as being beyond rules, but that is only because they try to judge my children in their courts. I abide by the rules as set by the Eight.”
“By children, do you mean monsters?”
“Yes. They live by their own code. My code.”
“You do you, boo boo.”
“I am unfamiliar with that phrase.”
“Never mind. I’m just saying I don’t judge your people. Same as I want to say that, you know, don’t hate me because I’ve killed some of them.”
“My children know they are not immortal. They embrace death as they are. You killing them in battle is as it should be. Just as I will shed no tears when one of my children kills you.”
“I can dig that.”
I think it smiled. It was rather difficult to tell — the god just didn’t possess the right physiology to smile. Or show happiness. But Typhon seemed happier.
“Now the brokering, Montana Coggeshall. What shall it take for you to leave my child alive?”
I hated bargaining with gods. Mainly because I had no idea what to ask for. I felt like I’d never know enough about the game to be on level negotiating ground with them.
“Obviously the party and I have to get to the end of the dungeon.”
“Agreed.”
“I want the treasure the dungeon was originally entrusted to guard.”
Typhon didn’t answer, but made a hand motion with its massive clawed hands which I took to indicate I was to continue.
“The complete dungeon indicium. And, uh, a boon.”
It stared at me, and then I think it laughed.
“A boon—”
“And a blessing,” I interrupted him to add.
“You put me in a bind with this ask.”
“I mean, I feel like I’ve got the upper hand. I will ask for as much as I can.”
It nodded, and looked out at the frozen world in front of him. “A boon, a blessing, the complete dungeon indicium, and the treasure of the dungeon.”
“And safe passage through the rest of the dungeon,” I added.
He waved his hand. “That is assumed. If you continue on, you will just kill the dungeon and gain the indicium. Your desire for the treasure is a non-issue as well. It is the request for a boon and a blessing. That requires I side myself with those who have also given you boons and blessings. And that complicates everything.”
“Can I ask you about all that?”
“No. That is not knowledge meant for mortals.”
“Okay then, but maybe I want to know about that. You know, since it seems like I can just kill the dungeon and get everything I basically want anyway, so—”
“Montana of Coggeshall, you forget something, as those new to power often do. You, alone, are a being of impressive power. You may be able to to face this Dungeon and emerge victorious. You may even be able to stand forth against what it is I would prefer to do unto you. But those of your party, those you are with, they are weak. They do not possess you gifts or your protections. This will always be the case. Your greatest weakness will always be having to protect those you choose to care about.”
“Let’s just leave the question I want answered alone then.”
“At which point, I agree to your terms. I will give you my blessing, I will grant you a boon, I will accede to allowing you to gain the indicium as if you had completed the Dungeon in the traditional manner, and you will be taken to the treasure room and thus the exit of the Dungeon. Once you depart this Dungeon, you will never enter into any Dungeons. This one or any others you may stumble across.”
“No Dungeons?”
“None. You are too dangerous and they are too few.”
“Okay. Deal”
Typhon nodded at me, then reached out and put its hand on my shoulder. It felt heavy. Then it squeezed. Hard. I thought about screaming it hurt so bad, but I figured the god of monsters would probably
consider that a sign of weakness. And monsters tended to view weakness as worthy of death. So instead, I breathed in deeply and tried to find the joy in the exquisite pain.
Blissfully, the pain stopped, and completely disappeared.
Be aware: You have received the Typhon’s Mark of the Beast. You gain a 10% advantage in Intimidation, tremorsense, labyrinthine recall, and +5 Strength. Some might look upon this blessing with joy, others with anger. A side has been chosen, a side has been joined.
I looked over, and saw a black claw print over my shoulder. It slowly faded, but the pain remained for a moment.
Typhon looked down at me, as if appraising me.
“A boon,” it said, thinking.
“I mean, maybe, like, can I summon monsters?”
“You cannot handle such power.”
“Wait—”
“You have inadequate magic.”
“I can get more.”
“No. You cannot. You have chosen a path without magic, and you have stunted its growth through your choices.”
“Can you give me magic?”
It shook its head. “That is beyond my abilities.”
“I’d need to talk to the God of magic?”
“Perhaps. Even one such as I hesitates before thinking of speaking to one of the Eight.”
“Oh. Are you—”
“I am of the Sixty-Four,” it said. “I grow weary of being here and holding this world in stasis. Your boon, perhaps there is a little something I can do for you.”
It felt like something hit me, and I flew into the wall of the ziggurat behind me, smashing against the green stone and knocking all the air out of my lungs. Typhon hadn’t moved.
I struggled to breathe, and I was gasping like a fish.
Congratulations, the great god Typhon has gifted a boon upon you: